


often sighed from a dark heart

by hanamichi



Category: CLAMP - Works, Tokyo Babylon
Genre: Domestic, Hokuto lives, M/M, Married Couple, Seishiro still kills people so, Sex, a little violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanamichi/pseuds/hanamichi
Summary: in which Seishiro doesn't give Subaru a reason to cut his hair, but he does it anyway.
Relationships: Sakurazuka Seishirou/Sumeragi Subaru
Comments: 10
Kudos: 95
Collections: SeiSub Hanami Exchange 2020





	often sighed from a dark heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OldMyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldMyth/gifts).



> part of the SeiSub Hanami exchange! A gift for @OldMyth, I hope you like it!
> 
> thank you so much @dripepper for the beta <3

He’s chosen this: the sunlit-dark of his hair which even the light could not make brown, the skin warm and beneath his palm, the faint hum of his breathing. His face untroubled. His dreams content. Subaru smells of sakura, as if marked inside too, by the fancy of his husband.

Seishiro smiles, nuzzles the back of his Subaru’s neck and bites it lightly, to feel him stir in his arms, relishing in the fact that he is his to touch whenever he wants. He does it again, stronger this time. A little _ah_ from Subaru. He’s waking up now, moving against Seishiro with the innocent lewdness of the unconscious. He’s shy, even three years later, one thousand honeymoon nights, he’s still shy. But he’s twenty-two and his body responds as any other twenty-two year old would.

“Seishiro…” he murmurs, not opening his eyes yet, “what time…?”

“Early.” Seishiro answers against the bitten skin, against the bloom of its red. His hand touching the bareness of Subaru’s legs. He’s convinced Subaru to give him that bareness, to be half-naked in their bed even when they’re not touching. He’s convinced Subaru to give him his body even when all he wants is to look. His hands ungloved too, the twin stars more tying than any wedding ring. Every day Seishiro wakes up and thinks: _this could be the day where I kill him, in this bed where I’ve loved him._ But the days pile on, and Subaru lives.

Subaru is half-hard when Seishiro holds him, and gasps, his face blushing as if Seishiro doesn’t do this every other day, as if he hasn’t been woken up like this a hundred times before. Perhaps it confuses him a little, the ardour from his soft-spoken veterinarian, perhaps he’s anticipated quiet nights with lights-off fumbling beneath the sheets. But Seishiro already hides enough as it is so he allows himself to be true to his hunger. To bite and to kiss and to be rough to the point of marking.

“Won’t we be late?” Subaru asks, not being coy, not being a tease, but out of a genuine worry. He still gives most of his life to others; Seishiro still has to share him with the world most of their days. These are stolen hours from an otherwise stoic existence. Subaru, Seishiro feels, would be a better fit to another era, another place. Perhaps as a monk travelling around and helping people centuries ago. Perhaps as a martyr, killed young. But he’s not, he’s Seishiro’s. And in this universe, Seishiro decides (since Subaru’s life is his to spare), Subaru gets to be happy.

His Onmyōji twist in his arms, his hips rocking back and forth, his eyes closed, his moans freely given. It’s such an easy thing, then, for Seishiro to guide his own erection to the schism between Subaru’s thighs, to that sweet place that’s still wet with seed spilled inside the night before. Subaru goes taut for a moment, tight and perfect around Seishiro, before relaxing and taking his husband in with a sigh. He turns a little, so he can look at Seishiro’s eyes.

“Hard?” the Sakurazukamori asks, and it’s so gentle, half a cruelty to ask him that when he’s so open, his eyes so clear, to watch the red spread on his face like an answer.

Subaru whimpers softly, but doesn’t look away.

“Please,” he says.

Subaru’s own hunger was a surprise too. Their first night took a while to arrive. Seishiro, a villain in so many things, but not in this: after the confession he waited until Subaru turned eighteen and then waited one year more, until Subaru had passed his exams and started university. Those two years, like the one before, chaperoned almost entirely by the cheerful presence of Hokuto (“now that it’s official I need to protect my brother’s virtue! You don’t fool me, Seishiro. I know you’ll devour him the minute I leave you two alone.”). Only a few kisses to take the edge off. So when the wedding happened and they started living together as a couple in everything but the paper, Seishiro anticipated Subaru as a perpetual blushing bride. And that’s what he was, for the first few weeks. But then came nights and mornings when Subaru, flushed but firm, asked for exactly what he wanted. Sometimes, at the end of days where Seishiro came home with his hands clean of any human blood, he’d make dinner and wait for Subaru to arrive from his work as an Onmyōji. Nights like these where his prey would climb on his lap, still in ceremonial clothes like a white, sacred bird, and, silently, kissed Seishiro and grinded against him until he was hard and then rode him until Seishiro was panting and half-drunk. Once, red to the tip of his ears, Subaru had whispered: _Seishiro-san, can I be the one to hold you tonight?_ It took a moment for Seishiro to understand – not fuck, not top, not be the _seme_ . Subaru had asked for him with his usual gentleness. Seishiro smiled, teased him: “I thought you liked being held.” to which Subaru blushed further and explained: “I do! But I’d like to do it too. I want to know what it feels like being inside you.” He had said the last part with that same resolution he’d use in exorcisms that made Seishiro think he’d not be so easy to kill. So they switched for the night. There had to be some part of Subaru, perhaps something subconscious, that knew Seishiro for what he was, t he way all hunted things are attuned to their hunters. With all his magic, all his power, there had to be. He touched Seishiro with a care that was almost worship. There, perhaps he knew – a lion doesn’t show his belly to just anyone. When Seishiro wrapped his legs around Subaru’s waist and pulled him inside, he thought, an unimportant, fleeting thought: _maybe this is really love._

He’d ask himself that a few times throughout the years regarding Subaru (why else would he keep him alive? Just curiosity? Or was he playing that long with his food?), and even Hokuto. But the answer never interested him much, anyway.

His orgasm surprised him that night. “Subaru,” he sighed, taking one hand to caress the young man’s cheek. And for a moment Subaru halted, a small smile of pride on his lips, before he carried on and finished too.

 _Thank you, Seishiro._ He said after, his face hidden on the curve of the Sakurazuka’s shoulder. Forsaking the _san_ and the implied hierarchy that came with it.

They would switch every once in a while, but today he has Subaru as he likes him best: withering in his arms, fucked out of mind and out of shame, calling out his name. They started early, but now the sunlight is firmer, clearer. Maybe they actually will be late. But he can’t bring himself to care. He loves the most to steal Subaru from the world. To kill him for anyone who isn’t him, if only for a little while.

It isn’t a marriage – it could not be, given the law. But there was a small wedding party attended only by Hokuto and her friend (a foreign, somewhat shy girl who seemed very fond of Hokuto). There was a honeymoon after; Subaru had never left Japan and neither had Seishiro so they spent seven days in Italy, at the beginning of summer, where Subaru’s skin tanned a bit and one night he got tipsy on Italian wine. For seven days Seishiro was just an ordinary veterinarian traveling abroad with his partner.

There was a wedding kimono too, courtesy of Hokuto’s insistence:

“When I get married I’ll wear a western dress,” she said. “But you were _made_ for a shiromuku, Subaru.”

“I’m not a girl, Hokuto.” Subaru answered, a little abashed, the red faint on his cheeks, but still there.

“So what?” his twin turned to her future brother-in-law: “what do you think, Seishiro?”

“I love seeing Subaru-kun in white,” he considered, his hand paused mid-air, a spoonful of strawberry parfait on the way to his mouth. “But a shiromuku is very hard to take off.”

Subaru blushed deeply, while Hokuto laughed.

“You’re getting bolder by the day, brother-in-law!”

The wedding was modest. Hokuto knew the priests of a small shrine and took upon herself the duties of both miko and priest. Seishiro rented a montsuki for the day and though the ceremony wasn’t grand, they followed the shizen kekkon, thrice drinking sake poured three times from three different cups. Hokuto was unusually serious and there was even some solemnity in her expression, softened in Subaru’s. Seishiro wondered what he was thinking, if marriage was a dream of his – Subaru didn’t strike him as the type _._ “I’m happy just by being with you, Seishiro-san,” Subaru had told him, months ago. But perhaps this was important to him because, even though illegally, they were now bound by the same beliefs he had practiced since he was a child. Seishiro had already marked him and now Subaru could do the same.

Seishiro’s cruellest part would have loved to see the rest of the Sumeragi clan at his wedding, would want to boast their heir given to the Sakurazukamori. But these were spoiled, impossible wants. He wouldn’t have Subaru see him for what he was just yet.

They rented a room in a karaoke bar for the celebration, after, and laughed, drinking sake while Hokuto sang a great number of love songs, teaching enka classics to her friend and pulled Seishiro and Subaru up for a few duets. Subaru looked beautiful that night, far too divine in his expensive furisode, for such a meagre affair. He deserved the whole bridal party and both their families as witnesses – only ghosts on the groom’s side. And as the saying goes, Subaru, all in white and untouched yet, would take on the colours of his husband’s kin. What shade but the red could the Sakurazuka offer? Against that white it would turn cherry-blossom pink. The boy tainted like that tree.

Subaru did remind him, at the most androgynous Seishiro had ever seen him, of his late mother on her final evening. Her small hands, her painted lips – like Subaru’s now, Hokuto had insisted on a little lipstick. It had been Seishiro’s first death and first kiss. He could recall that coldness, if he wanted. He chuckled to himself, watching Subaru drink sake. Should he be worried at the Freudian implications? Probably not. Subaru and his mother had in common only their beauty.

  
  


Perhaps it could still be done; perhaps Subaru could still be made into one of the sakura sacrifices. A final answer to the question, was it love? Would he feel a second wound open in his chest as he tore open his beloved’s? Let his body suffer the empathy his mind could not.

Perhaps this would be the only way to know. But he could keep postponing it. He could extend the most beautiful days of his life. He could still come home to the small apartment they share, bringing home sweets from a favourite patisserie; he could still say _tadaima_ and hear back _okaeri,_ in Subaru’s soft voice. He could still leave his shoes next to Subaru’s at the door and take to work homemade lunches, he could still say to the secretary of the clinic when she asked about it: _my husband made them – yes, he’s lovely._ He could still play at a tenderness that wasn’t his own.

When he’s out killing he feels, amused, like a man cheating on his beautiful wife. No guilt – that’s a feeling that has never reached him. But the thought is there, whenever he’s living his true life. He’s very careful these days, always cleaning thoroughly his gloves, the cuff of his shirts. Taking no blood to their bed. When he lies down by Subaru’s side on these late nights, he’s always taken a shower first, and no longer smells of death.

  
  


Daylight killing. Done in his lunchbreak. It’s a beautiful day in Tokyo, the sky blue and the weather spring-warm and the city seems unspoiled. Subaru will be home when he gets back, he has fewer classes today and no exorcism to perform. Seishiro is taking off his gloves and thinking about the cake he’ll pick up on the way when he feels it. A shift of the energy in the air.

His fingers curl around a spell, but the energy, while not benign, doesn’t seem aggressive.

A man approaches him slowly. He’s tall, almost as tall as Seishiro himself, and wears a blue suit and loose pants and a charming smile on a handsome, thirty-something face.

“Beautiful day we’re having,” the stranger says, “A little warm, though. I prefer the rain.”

“It’s a bit too warm for me too.” Seishiro smiles back. “And you are…?”

“Oh, forgive me, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Yuuto Kigai” The man says, his fair-haired head tilting slightly forward, his eyes never leaving Seishiro’s. “And that’s a very unusual hobby for a veterinarian, Seishiro Sakurazuka-san.” He glances at the bloody glove on Seishiro’s hand.

Seishiro’s smile is warm. It’s not the first time that has happened, but it’s rare. There were some, less powerful than him, who have tried to stop him, or blackmail him, or learn from him. They all became sacrifices to the sakura and Yuuto should follow the same path but there’s something different about him. The energy is still placid, like water of an untroubled lake. He’s either too powerful to be afraid or too foolish. Or perhaps…

“If you know just how unusual then you should be afraid for your life.”

“I should, shouldn’t I?” he runs a hand through his hair carelessly. “I’m not as young as I was. But killing me would still be troublesome to you. I’m familiar with the Art as well. Besides, I didn’t come here to fight. We’re on the same team.”

Seishiro picks up a cigarette and lights it.

“Are we now?”

“Are you aware, Seishiro-san, that the end of humanity is coming?”

“I might have heard a thing or two.”

“Well, it’s up to us. And as much as I don’t like the extra hustle, you can’t really fight fate, can you?”

Seishiro smiles at that and takes a long drag of his cigarette.

“I disagree, Yuuto-san. I have no interest in fighting fate but I won’t obey it either.”

Yuto doesn’t seem troubled by this, he looks away as if interested in the comings and goings of the birds flying above them and the general sound of life in the distance. There’s a certain laziness about him which is part of his charm. He’s nonchalant, almost as indifferent as Seishiro himself. It feels more like resignation with him, however. Like a paper boat, happy to follow the water’s course.

“There’s still time, anyway. ‘That person’ hasn’t returned to Tokyo yet. When he does, I hope you’ll come find us – Miss Kanoe and the rest of the seven will be waiting for you.”

“I’m afraid you’ll be waiting a long time. I don’t care about humanity. If it lives or dies is none of my concern.”

“Maybe.” He looks at Seishiro once more. “It’s a pity, though, that your beautiful husband will be fighting for the other side. I don’t think he’ll be as indifferent as you.”

Seishiro lets the cigarette fall to the ground and puts it out with his shoe. He’s not smiling now.

“I’m the only one allowed to kill him.”

Yuuto must have felt it, but even a layman would, the thickening of Seishiro’s power, its darkening. But he keeps smiling, with less brightness than before. A bit more honest now.

“Believe me, I’m in no rush to kill anyone.” His smile broadens again and he bows his head in farewell. “When the time comes you’ll know where to find us. Goodbye for now, Seishiro-san.”

  
  


It’s a pretty cake Seishiro brings home, decorated with small, bunny-shaped biscuits and strawberries, the sort of sweet they used to eat during their courting days.

Subaru is already there. _Okaeri,_ he says, as Seishiro takes off his shoes. When he looks up Subaru is watching him with anticipation. His hair is short and accentuates his cheekbones, his small chin, the overall beauty of his face. Like this Seishiro can see that the last of his baby fat is gone. He still looks androgynous, nothing could take that away, but there’s a sharp adulthood to his features now that wasn’t there before.

“Do you like it?” his husband asks, running his hand through the short strands of his hair. Just a tad anxious, needlessly. Seishiro smiles and holds Subaru’s face with his hand and kisses him.

“I do. You look lovely, Subaru-kun.” But then again, Subaru would be lovely to him anyway. He’d be lovely long-haired or entirely bald, he’d be lovely bloodied or smiling. He’d be lovely at the old age neither of them will reach.

Subaru touches his face with his hand when the kiss ends, mimicking Seishiro’s movement.

“Are you alright, Seishiro-san?” he asks softly, looking even more mature in his concern. “You seem a little worried.”

“Not at all.” Seishiro answers. “I’m just happy to be home.”

He is. It’s a quiet night. They eay together a good chunk of the cake after dinner and Subaru tells him about his day, about the classes he’s taken, about the talk he’s had with his grandmother. They watch a movie before bed, huddled together on the sofa like any other couple, like peaceful characters in a peaceful story. Seishiro strokes Subaru’s hair and if he’s a little rougher than usual that night when they fuck, Subaru doesn’t mention. These days should last forever, yes. But wouldn’t it be beautiful to die by his hand or to kill him when the time comes? Which one would be losing the bet?

Seishiro sleeps with Subaru in his arms and dreams of nothing but good things.

One year later a boy named Kamui arrives in Tokyo.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3


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